


Twilight Totally Sucks, and Here's Why

by Thevoidbetweenus



Series: College AU Series [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 16:27:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20450087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thevoidbetweenus/pseuds/Thevoidbetweenus
Summary: Madara sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “That doesn’t make my work done,” he grumbles.  “You don’t have to wait up for me, you know.  Just go to bed.”  He waves the other man off, attempting to dismiss him.  He has to read through Mr. Iwa’s fantastic essay about the inferiority of Stephanie Meyer’s work.  He’s half tempted to amend Mr. Hyuga’s grade to an A.-In which Madara is a tired college professor, and his husband is trying to lure him to bed.





	Twilight Totally Sucks, and Here's Why

**Author's Note:**

> This AU is something I've been developing with one of my dear friends, I hope you enjoy!

Madara pushes his glasses up his nose, squinting to read some particularly tiny writing on the page in front of him. This student (Neji Hyuga, he believes, but he’s starting to lose track) seems to think it’s fine to write so small he needs a magnifying glass. He supposes that’s what he gets when he has in-class writing exams. Well, if he grades all the harsher, he can hardly be blamed.

He rubs his temples, sighing deeply and sinking back into his office chair. It’s not exactly comfortable, but then, work isn’t something that he particularly  _ wants  _ to make luxurious anyway. 

The essay is some dribble about Shakespeare. Hardly revolutionary, but satisfactory. He notes as such, his own handwriting thin and scrawling.  _ Hardly exemplary, but you demonstrate sufficient knowledge of the material. B+. _

Well. He’s not known as the hardest English professor at the university for no reason. He sets the Hyuga’s exam in his ‘completed’ pile, then puts down his pen. “How long have you been in here?”

“Long enough to tell that you need a break,” is his husband’s response. Madara can hear the smile in Hashirama’s voice. 

“Tch…I don’t need a break. They’re expecting their exams tomorrow, and I’m almost done.” He glances at the name on the next exam. 

Deidara Iwa. His stomach churns as he turns to the first page. Sloppy handwriting, and he thinks he catches a glimpse of the name “Stephanie Meyer.”

He’s very tempted to mark it as an  _ F  _ immediately. No, no - he has to be fair. A sick grin spreads across his lips. At least he can have some fun with this.

“It  _ is  _ tomorrow. You’ve been at this for six hours, now.” Hashirama’s voice breaks his concentration, and he’s admittedly grateful for the small reprieve.  _ Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight totally sucks, and here’s why  _ isn’t exactly the well-constructed critique he had asked for from his students. 

Madara sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That doesn’t make my work done,” he grumbles. “You don’t have to wait up for me, you know. Just go to bed.” He waves the other man off, attempting to dismiss him. He has to read through Mr. Iwa’s  _ fantastic  _ essay about the inferiority of Stephanie Meyer’s work. He’s half tempted to amend Mr. Hyuga’s grade to an A.

Hashirama snorts and drapes his arms around Madara’s shoulders, resting his chin on top of his head. His hair is definitely scratchy on his chin (and there’s  _ so  _ much of it) but honestly - it’s worth it for the way Madara melts beneath him. Seeing him vulnerable like this is a rare treat, only for his eyes. He’s certainly going to take advantage of it. “Only if you come with me!”

“You’re impossible,” Madara mutters, though he smiles and rests his hands over Hashirama’s. “Let me get through one more?”

“We both know that one will turn into two, which will turn into three, which will turn into you pulling another all nighter.” Hashirama pulls away, hoping to entice his partner to bed.

“I haven’t done that in a whole entire  _ month, _ ” Madara complains. “And they need these exams back so that they can understand what they did wrong, in order to modify their study tactics!” Idly, he picks up his pen and scratches out the word “tween” to write “young teenager” beside it. Nitpicky, but if Mr. Iwa insists on writing schlock for him to read, then he has a right to be capricious about the grading of it, damnit.

“I’m sure your students can wait one more day,” his husband murmurs in response, reaching over to rest a hand over Madara’s, stopping him from writing anything further. “Please?”

Madara looks at their hands, expression softening. He closes his eyes briefly, vaguely recognizing the pounding of his head. Maybe Hashirama has a point. “I don’t know,” he mumbles, pushing his glasses up his nose again. “I suppose I could finish them tomorrow…”

Hashirama grins, taking both of Madara’s hands now and tugging him out of the chair. “You’re working yourself to the bone, Madara. It’s okay to take a break. You need it.” He squeezes his hands. “Come to bed with me. Allow your husband to lavish you with kisses and snuggles.”

Madara laughs, a sincere smile on his face as his cheeks heat up. “Alright, alright,” he relents. “Just this once. My students will be so disappointed.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure they’ll be so sad that they won’t get their failed exams tomorrow,” is the teasing response. Madara puffs his cheeks.

“I only fail students who deserve to fail,” he grumbles as Hashirama walks with him to their bedroom. Before stepping out of the office, he flicks off the light. 

“I’m sure,” Hashirama acquiesces. When they reach the bedroom he lets go of Madara’s hand to flop on the bed, his hair splayed across his pillow. Madara snorts and he takes his glasses off, setting them on the nightstand. He sits beside his husband on the bed, unbuttoning his silky pajama shirt.

“It’s just because it’s hot in here,” he explains when Hashirama raises a brow.

“Right, of course. Did you want me to turn the AC up-”

“No.” Madara lays down beside the other man and wraps his arms around him, curling his legs up as well. “It’ll just make my headache worse,” he explains after a moment, closing his eyes and resting his head on Hashirama’s chest. Now that he’s away from the exam booklets, his head is throbbing. He could probably alleviate it by taking a painkiller, but that sounds like a lot of work. Besides, Hashirama is warm, and now he’s cozy!

His husband nods, returning the embrace with one arm and threading his fingers through Madara’s hair with his other. “Get some rest,” he murmurs, giving him a little squeeze. “Please don’t push yourself so hard. You’re a person too, not just a professor.”

Madara chuckles, voice deep and almost husky. “I think my students would be shocked to hear that,” he murmurs, pulling the bedsheet up and over them despite the heat. Hashirama doesn’t comment on the oxymoron.

“I think sometimes you are as well,” he says, closing his eyes as well. “When I wake up, you better be beside me and not at your desk grading papers again.”

“Or what?” Madara elbows the other man sharply in the stomach, offering a lopsided smirk.

“Ow!” Hashirama complains, though he laughs. “Or I’m not going to cuddle you for a whole week!” he says, though they both know the threat is relatively empty. This is their favorite part of the day.

“Cruel,” Madara says. “Cold as ice, you are. I’m an earlier riser than you, what am I supposed to do when I wake up and you’re still snoring?”

“Enjoy the view?” is the suggestion.

“As if.”

“And  _ I’m  _ the cruel one,” Hashirama says, laughing again. “Please stay with me?”

“Of course I’m going to, you idiot,” Madara grumbles, cheeks heating up again. “It’s too hard to try to pull away from you anyway.”

“Mhm,” Hashirama hums in response, allowing Madara his quibbling. 

It’s moments like this to savor, after all. 


End file.
